1651
A Word made Flesh is seldom
And tremblingly partook
Nor then perhaps reported
But have I not mistook
Each one of us has tasted
With ecstasies of stealth
The very food debated
To our specific strength-
A Word that breathes distinctly
Has not the power to die
Cohesive as the Spirit
It may expire if He-
“Made Flesh and dwelt among us”
Could condescension be
Like this consent of Language
This loved Philology.
A Word Made Flesh Is Seldom
Emily Dickinson
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Poem topics: food, power, strength, spirit, language, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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